One Day At A Time
by slashbutterfly
Summary: Ziva's in trouble. And there's only one person left who can help her. Non-explicit femslash, self-harming trigger warning .
1. Chapter 1

One Day At A Time

One Day At A Time

Warnings: Non-explicit femslash, self-harming (may be triggering), very OOC.

Discalimer: I don't own anything from NCIS.

Enjoy?

--

Ziva crouched underneath the desk, praying that everyone else had gone home. She'd seen McGee and Tony leave, assumed Abby had already gone home, knew Ducky had and was just waiting for Gibbs to make his exit. She knew he would be the last to leave.

She sensed movement and kept very still, holding her breath. That was Gibbs. She could tell by the quiet breathing, the faint rustle of trousers as he moved, the padding of his footsteps. She listened intently as he walked away, counted the seconds as she heard him leave. She was on her own.

She didn't really know why she was doing it. She thought it was because here at work, ironic as it was, she felt safe. Maybe she just didn't want to go home tonight, or ever. But one day at a time. Tonight she would be staying here.

What she would say in the morning – well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. But now there were things to do. Ziva David had a whole lot of angst bottled up inside her and here was somewhere she could let it out.

She crawled out from under the desk, stood up, and stretched, though she didn't really register the ache in her muscles. Crossing the floor softly to an unobtrusive corner, she slid her hand into her pocket, fingering the sharp blade that lay there. Drawing it out, she held it up, watching it flash as it caught the light. It almost made her laugh, that something so pretty could be so dangerous.

She slid to the floor, back to the wall, and pulled up her sleeve, staring at the pale flesh criss-crossed with a network of scars, some almost invisible, others glaringly obvious. She moved further up and found a patch of skin as yet untouched. But not any more, she thought, drawing the blade slowly across her arm, watching fascinated as the blooded seeped out in tiny droplets. What a pretty colour it was.

But it wasn't any good. She couldn't feel anything. The anger rose in her throat and she slashed at her skin again and again, harder and harder until the blood ran everywhere and she was exhausted. She let the blade fall to the floor and dropped her arm down, covering it again, not caring that the blood quickly soaked through the thin fabric. How useful winter was for hiding things.

And then it hit her. What the hell did she think she was doing? Cutting yourself wasn't something that normal adults should be doing. It wasn't something that anyone should be doing, but… she should have left it behind in her teenage years. She thought she had. And now she'd failed, and had no idea what she was going to do about it.

She turned herself to face the wall, huddled into the corner. Her body began to shake as the sobs ran through her, loud and angry. And it wasn't pretty, or proper, or any kind of picturesque.

_Somebody help me_, she silently prayed.

And then she felt strong arms around her waist, pulling her up slowly. She didn't have the strength to fight, but when she was on her feet, she whipped around to see who had found her.

"Abby? What – I mean – I thought you'd – "

All these broken phrases ran through her mind, but she didn't speak. She leant forwards onto Abby, burying her head in the other girl's shoulder and crying until there were no more tears. Then, when the sobbing gradually subsided, she felt Abby gradually ease her off and hold her at arm's length.

"Let me see, Ziva." Soft and gentle, but firm, with no room for disobeying. Though it gave her chills to think about what she was doing, Ziva slowly rolled up her sleeve, wincing as the fabric tore away the scabs that had already begun to form. She looked at the floor, not wanting to see Abby's face. She would be shocked, she knew. But all she said was, "We need to get you cleaned up." And if there was a whispered "Oh, Ziva" and a sharp intake of breath, Ziva pretended not to hear it.

Slowly, clutching the other girl's hand like a lifeline, she followed her to the toilets, where Abby dabbed carefully at the mess she'd made of her arm. It stung like hell and seemed to take forever, but at last Abby was drying her arm with a paper towel and leading her to a lab, where she rummaged in a large box. "Here we are!" she exclaimed at last. She walked over with a wrap around bandage.

"Hold still." That same tone again. She wrapped the bandage not too tightly around the cuts, securing it with a safety pin.

"Now you need to rest. Come on."

Abby led her to a small room she had never seen before, which contained a camp bed and a motley assortment of (mainly black) clothes in a heap. "Used to be a storeroom," Abby explained. "I cleared it out. Sometimes I need to stay over if I'm working late. Got anything else you can wear?" she asked, gesturing at Ziva's working gear. She shook her head.

Abby rummaged in the pile and produced a large black T-shirt bearing a slogan (the name of some band, Ziva assumed) that she was far too tired to read. "Have this. Not guaranteed clean, though." Ziva turned her back while she changed, and when she turned around, Abby was also wearing a similar T-shirt.

Ziva sank down onto the bed and lay on her side, taking up as little room as possible. Abby slid in behind her. "Do you mind? Only the floor's seriously uncomfortable."

Taking her silence for a yes, she tentatively put her arms around Ziva's waist.

"Shh… just try to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning," she whispered, placing a feather-light kiss on Ziva's neck.

Ziva didn't know when she had ever felt so safe. She laughed to herself, realising the oddity of their positions. If you'd asked a stranger which one was a cutter, they would go for Abby every time. But despite the black clothes, pale skin and blood-red lipstick, Abby was one of the happiest people she knew.

That made her think for a second. Would Abby understand? But Abby's arms holding her close calmed her, and she snuggled back against her. Maybe she wouldn't need to understand, not yet. Maybe she could just listen, and it would be okay.

But they would see. For now, they were both preparing to take everything one step at a time.

(Um… what did anyone think?)


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: Judgement Day spoilers, details may be a little sketchy as I haven't seen all the episodes and don't know much about her Mossad work, or indeed anything, much

Warnings: Judgement Day spoilers, details may be a little sketchy as I haven't seen all the episodes and don't know much about her Mossad work, or indeed anything, much. Set just before the end of season 5.

Disclaimer: As before, etc.

I know some people said it would be better off as a one-shot, and I originally intended it as such, but I got inspired. Don't know if anyone but me will like it – it's rather fluffy and cheesy. But hey. It's my story.

--

As it happened, they both woke early, long before any of their co-workers were even thinking of getting up – possibly with the exception of Gibbs, who appeared to go almost entirely without sleep.

They were so closely cuddled together that they woke almost simultaneously – neither could have said who began to stir first. Ziva turned over to look at Abby. She wanted to say something – to thank her for everything; to admit it was the best night's sleep she'd had in months; to even begin to admit how she felt. But a mixture of fear and early morning grogginess held her tongue, and instead she grinned weakly.

Abby returned the smile, gently reaching out to cup Ziva's chin in her hand. "How are you feeling?"

Unbelievably happy, for someone who nearly killed themselves last night; but the words still wouldn't come.

"Okay, I guess," she croaked, and immediately kicked herself. The old fallback, the safe answer; since when had she been afraid to tell the truth? Since forever, said the little voice inside her head. Since you started cutting again. Since you began to fall for one of your colleagues.

The Goth sat up, stretched, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She began to dig in one of the piles on the floor, throwing over her shoulder a couple of garments. "Your trousers should be okay to wear, but your shirt's wrecked, and you'll need spare underwear. These are clean, I promise."

Ziva tentatively sat up and instinctively looked down at her arm. She winced as she saw that the blood had soaked through and turned the once bleach white bandage pink and red in splodges. Abby saw her looking and came over.

"We need to get that changed. If you get up soon, I'll do it for you before any of the others get in. And we'll have time to talk."

The protest died on her lips as Abby turned her back again and headed out with her own bundle of clothes, presumably to give her some privacy. Having no energy to protest, she did as she was told, glad to see that Abby had produced a normal-looking top and not one of her usual Goth creations. She sat down on the edge of the bed to wait, and her friend soon came back in, hair tied up in its usual fashion and make-up carefully applied. The bed sagged as she sat down next to Ziva.

"Talk." It wasn't a question, but not an order, either; more of a suggestion. Still, Ziva felt compelled to speak. She hesitated for a second, then the words began to fall out, tumbling over each other in her rush.

"It's not the first time, but I guess you knew that already. I used to do it when I was a teenager. I didn't exactly hide it back then. Not just cutting; burning, bruising, anything I could get my hands on, really. I pulled myself together in the end, stopped being a wild child, grew up.

But recently it all came back again. That same feeling – no, feeling's not the right word." She bent her head, frustrated at her usually competent grasp of the language failing her. Then she looked up, straight at Abby.

"Have you ever had a time where all the good feelings disappear? Where the only memories you can recall are bad ones, and nothing makes you feel good, everything just makes it worse? When it feels like you're sinking into a great black hole and no-one can get you out of it again, not even yourself?"

Abby began to nod, then shrugged. "I know what you're getting at; closest I've come was after Kate died. It wasn't quite that bad, but verging on it, I guess."

Ziva nodded. "That's the way it starts. But for me, it gets worse. I start not even feeling sadness, or anger, or even any of the negative feelings. I just feel – oh what's the word? – lethargic, despondent. Not wanting to do anything. Losing interest completely. Then I'm in trouble, because if I don't pull myself out of it, I lose all feeling. I'm completely numb. No happiness or sadness, no hunger, no tiredness, nothing. And it's unbearable, Abby. I lose the will to live, but I don't want to die, either. I don't want to do anything, I don't care about anything. And it comes on at the most irrational times. Nothing bad has happened lately; it's just like a big black cloud that's always hovering on the horizon, waiting to descend whenever I'm beginning to pull my life together.

And the only way I know to feel anything is to self-harm. It's not the only reason people do it: some people do it for attention, and that's a problem in itself; some people do it because they think they deserve to be punished; for some people, it's a control thing; a few people just like the sight of blood. But the rest of us do it to feel anything, at all. Can you understand that, Abby? Can you understand what it's like when feeling anything at all, even pain, is better than feeling nothing?"

She waited for Abby's response. She'd never seen her friend so lost for words, and began to worry that she'd said something wrong, and watched her face anxiously for some clue. Finally the reply came.

"I'm not sure. I can imagine it, but I'm not sure that's the same as understanding. But you know what, Ziva? I think it doesn't matter. I'm here for you, you know that, and we're going to get you through this. Let's start with today. And let's start today with getting you a fresh bandage and ready for work."  
She stood up and faced the Israeli, hand outstretched to pull her up. Almost automatically, Ziva took the proffered hand, and followed her through to the lab.

Abby tried to make it as easy as possible, but some pain was inevitable; finally she had finished and stood back to inspect her handiwork. "All spruced up and ready to go! The others should be arriving just about now. You'd better go up."

Ziva was surprised at how quickly she was dismissed. Was this the same woman she had shared a bed with the night before, who had held her hand and comforted her while she cried? Hurt and puzzled, she turned to go, and was just outside the elevator when she heard her name being called. She turned, and saw Abby running full speed towards her. She found herself engulfed in a bear hug, and then there was a kiss on her cheek and a gentle push into the open lift.

When she emerged into the squadroom, she found McGee already seated at his desk. He gave her no more than a passing glance and a smile before returning to his beloved computer. Ziva sat down and booted up her own computer, smiling gently to herself. For once, everything was going to be okay.

(Any opinions?)


End file.
